


Oh God Oh No

by bigbidumbass



Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Renaissance, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Everything is Beautiful and Everything Hurts, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:15:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23693731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigbidumbass/pseuds/bigbidumbass
Summary: Set in the Renaissance era, Tom is a painter, Will is his muse. They fall in love. Plot occurs.I apologize in advance,Oh God. Oh No.
Relationships: Tom Blake/William Schofield
Comments: 8
Kudos: 46





	1. Chapter 1

The name of his muse was Will, and he had golden hair.

Tom had spent months in a world of grey- a world devoid of inspiration. He’d sat with a blank canvas, itching to create, to construct the world that lived in his head. Yearning, _aching,_ for color, for depth, for feeling. Still, the canvas had remained as blank as his vision.

Dull, diluted, a murky void of what once had been. He’d spent days wandering through the streets without purpose, not caring who saw him, for he was merely a fraction of himself, an incomplete half.

He found his salvation in a blinding, stunning gold, in the cobalt blue of his eyes: his name was Will, and he was beautiful. Tom had never met someone whose beauty was beyond words- he wondered if Will was an angel, or perhaps the devil sent to tempt him.

Ultimately, he settled upon the idea that Will was a masterpiece- a sculpture come to life. Every inch of him was a work of art, and Tom spent his time trying to replicate it onto paper, onto canvas, carving out Will’s every feature. His kisses were art, too, as Tom would come to learn. 

Tom had been painting, and Will had delicately taken Tom’s hand and pressed a gentle kiss to it, then to his wrist, the same, and to his cheek, and finally, delicately, to his lips.

Nights were made of Will after that, loving Will, feeling Will next to him, gazing at him, wondering if he was real, if he was here. He enjoyed brushing his fingers against Will’s skin, tracing the marble veins, savoring the soft sighs of pleasure that escaped from Will’s lips. Will would kiss him, softly, oh so tenderly, and then caress down his neck, leaving marks on his skin.

“More,” Tom would request, and Will would obey; Nipping the sensitive skin on the inside of his thigh, painstakingly taking his time, until Tom was gasping in pleasure, grinding, begging for relief.

They would watch the sunrise together, bodies entangled, Will running his hands through Tom’s hair, murmuring soft reassurances of devotion.

Will was a poet, and a few weeks after they’d met, he’d written one for Tom:

_I would take on_

_All the disgrace on Earth_

_If it meant_

_I could kiss you_

_Just once._

Tom had saved it, folded it into his favorite book. Will had a way with words, which Tom found himself envying- he made it look so easy. Painting was all agony, frustration, repetition. One day, he was sure it was going to drive him mad. That was, if Will didn’t first- Will was a special kind of torment, a torment that came mixed with a taste of divinity. His smile was torture and heaven all in one.

There came a point where Tom admitted to himself a dangerous fact: if Will was the devil, he would follow him into hell without question. Which scared him, of course, but Will was far too tender to ever be anything evil.

* * *

One night, Will came home stressed, sitting down at his desk, and Tom gently touched his shoulder. 

“What is it?” he asked.

“Writer’s block,” Will told him. “I’ve been staring at a blank page all day.”

“You’ll get it back, I know it,” Tom told him, massaging the tension out of Will’s shoulders.

Will sighed, melting into Tom’s hands. “I hope you’re right,” he said.

Tom chuckled. “Have I ever been wrong?”

“Yes,” Will answered, picking up his mail from the nightstand. “Your memory is awful.”

Tom grinned, placing kisses down Will’s neck.

“Christ, you’re tense,” he told him.

“Am I?” Will said, and Tom pressed his hands in deeper.

“Would you like me to relieve some of that tension?” he asked.

“Sure,” Will said, obviously distracted by the letters he was reading.

Tom chose a spot right underneath Will’s jaw and bit down. That got his attention.

“Jesus, Tom,” Will whined, setting the letters down. 

“What, want me to stop?” Tom asked.

“Don’t,” Will begged softly. Tom took his hand and pulled him to the bed, then grabbed his shirt and tugged it off. He ran his hand over Will’s back, taking a moment to admire it.

“Are you going to stare at my back all day, or are you going to fuck me?” Will asked.

Tom hummed, tracing the outline of the muscles. “Well, now I’m tempted to just stare at you.”

“Tom,” Will said, and Tom, grinning, moved to grab a blindfold, softly placing it over Will’s eyes.

“Why the blindfold?” Will asked.

“So you can’t see what I’m going to do next,” Tom said. He leaned in for a kiss, then returned to Will’s neck, making sure he bit hard enough to leave marks.

“Tom, Christ, I have to go out tomorrow,” Will said. "Can’t you lay off the biting? I had enough people stare at me last time.”

Tom moved off his neck in response, kissing down Will’s torso. As he got near the more sensitive areas, he started biting again- Will’s hip, the soft skin near his groin.

“Shit,” Will muttered, and Tom slid the rest of his clothes off. Tom loved pleasing Will- mostly for the noises that he made, the way Tom knew he was making Will feel good. And if there was one thing Tom was good at, it was using his hands, and he put them to work now.

“Fuck,” Will moaned. “Fuck, Tom.”

His hands tightened against the sheets, and Tom slowed down, teasing him.

“Fuck you,” Will said frustratedly.

“Isn’t that your job?” Tom asked, running a finger against the groove of Will’s hip. 

Will shivered at the touch. “Tom, come on,” he pleaded. Tom returned to his original speed, and Will let out a soft noise, tilting his head back.

“Jesus,” he panted, and Tom felt a great deal of gratification at that.

“I didn’t know you were religious,” he bantered.

“Shut up, you know I’m not,” Will replied with difficulty.

Tom laughed, experimenting with speeds, watching for the one Will reacted to most. Then, when Will was softly cursing, almost grinding into him, he added his mouth.

“Christ!” Will groaned, instinctually grasping Tom’s hair, burying his hand in the curls.

Will was desperate for more now, his back arching, and he murmured Tom’s name almost as if he were praying. Tom focused on the area that made Will the loudest and kept at it until Will was practically yanking on his hair.

“Fuck, fuck,” Will breathed, “Don’t stop.”

Tom wouldn’t dream of it now, not when Will was so close, not when he was pulling his hair like _that._ And then Will came, making a noise that made Tom’s heart skip a beat- and Tom briefly yearned to stay in the moment forever.

* * *

Later that night, when Will was asleep, Tom sketched him. He’d drawn Will more than he’d ever drawn anything else, but he doubted he’d ever get tired of it.

When he set down the drawing, he noticed a letter on the ground- the letter Will had been reading earlier. He picked it up, unable to stop himself from scanning through it. It was written a bit strangely- obviously coded. _Why would Will be getting coded letters?_

Remembering how he used to code things with Joe, Tom pulled out a fresh paper. He knew he shouldn’t be nosing into Will’s personal business but he found the intrigue irresistible. 

It took him a while to decipher it- he was rusty and mismarked things, but eventually, he got it: 

_“William. Meet at usual spot tomorrow. We must talk. Ad Maius Bonum.”_

It was the last sentence that made Tom’s blood run cold. Ad Maius Bonum- Latin for “the greater good.” A radical group of religious higher-ups, who hunted down anyone that opposed them. Naturally, they targeted artists, ones who showed any sign of deviance. 

Tom, unfortunately, fit right into that group, with his anti-Christianity paintings and “homosexual tendencies,” as they would have called it. _Why the hell did Will have a letter from them?_

Tom’s hands were shaking, and he threw a quick glance back to the bed to make sure Will was still sleeping. It was ridiculous, but Tom deciphered the message again, desperately hoping it’d somehow come out wrong. But it came out exactly the same.

“Shit,” he cursed, freezing as Will stirred, but thankfully did not wake.

Trembling, he crumpled up and burned the evidence of the message of his deciphering, then put the letter right back where he’d found it. Taking in a deep breath, he forced himself not to jump to conclusions. Will was going to meet with whoever had sent the letter tomorrow, and Tom decided that he would follow him and hear for himself what was going on. Blinking back tears, he forced himself to go to bed. When he laid down, Will woke for a moment and put his arms around him. Tom didn’t believe in a God, but he prayed to one that night:

_Please, God, let it be a misunderstanding._

* * *

When he woke the next morning, he forced himself to act normal as Will made him breakfast, and luckily Will didn’t seem to notice anything was amiss. Tom wished he could say the same- when Will approached the desk and saw that the letter had been left out, he quickly grabbed it, going pale. He shot a quick glance toward Tom, who pretended not to have noticed.

Tom was doing his best to keep his faith in the circumstances, lingering a bit longer than normal when Will kissed him.

“I love you, I’ll be back tonight,” Will told him.

“I love you too,” Tom said, ignoring the sharp pain it caused him to say it.

When Will left, Tom watched him walk off, putting on a cloak to cover his face. Then, once Will was a safe distance away, Tom opened the door and followed him out. It was hard to keep up with him- the streets were crowded and he had to push through and around people just to keep Will in his sight. 

The walk was extremely long, and Tom’s legs were burning by the time Will came to a stop. They’d halted in a deserted area, and Tom had only just managed to hide behind the corner of a nearby building when a man approached Will. Tom went sick at the sight.

It was Father Jacobs, a priest, one of the main faces of Ad Maius Bonum. Tom had only seen him once before, and he wasn’t happy to repeat the experience.

“Father Jacobs,” Will greeted the priest

“My son,” Jacobs said. “We have not been hearing from you as planned.”

“Forgive me,” Will said. “But I’m afraid there’s not much to report on.”

There was a moment of silence.

“No? Nothing?” Jacobs replied. “What of his art, his drawings?”

“He doesn’t paint much, only sketches of me, Father,” Will said, and Tom slowly realized that they were talking about him. 

“I see,” the priest replied. “But you’ll update us if anything changes?”

“As soon as possible,” Will replied.

“Don’t forget what we fight for, William,” Jacobs said. “Your father was a holy man, and I need you to remember what he would have wanted.”

“Yes, of course,” Will replied.

“Then I shall be seeing you, my son. Ad Maius Bonum,” Jacobs said.

“Ad Maius Bonum,” Will repeated.

Tom at least conjured up the good sense to start walking away when he realized that they were done talking. Once both of them were gone, he allowed himself to process what he’d heard, sliding to the ground. He felt so many emotions he didn’t know where to start, but the main one currently flooding him was betrayal, something he wasn’t so familiar with.

Over and over, he repeated every moment he’d ever spent with Will, feeling like he should have known in a way- Will was simply too perfect to have been genuine. And Tom had thought he knew Will, every inch of him. But now he was a stranger, someone he didn’t know at all.

Then disgust. Nausea, hot and sickly, came, and Tom fought to keep down his breakfast. All the intimate moments together… had Will just been a callboy to report to the church of Tom’s every move? 

And confusion, so much confusion. Things didn’t add up, quite. Surely when Will had made love to him, that had been a sin as well? Or were members of Ad Maius Bonum simply immune to any religious reproval?

And there were so many small things Will had done that he needn’t have, he must have known Tom had been putty in his hands from the moment they’d met. Perhaps he took a sick pleasure in fucking with Tom’s emotions.

“Bastard,” Tom muttered to himself. “Fucking bastard!”

Anger, now. So much anger he thought he might burst. He slammed his fist to the ground, ignoring the pain that coursed through it. He sat like that for ages, until his muscles were screaming for him to move. Finally, he got up, his body trembling like a leaf. 

* * *

It was much too early for Will to have gone home, so that was where Tom headed, wanting to be as far away from him as he possibly could. As he stepped inside, he felt a huge rush of relief at the familiarity. His drawings of Will were not so welcome, however, and on impulse, he grabbed one and ripped it in half. 

Feeling some sort of vindication, he did the same to all the others, as many as he could see- crumpling, tearing, destroying them. When he was done, he took a look at the ravaged bits of art around him, and he cried.

He cried for longer than he’d ever cried before, at the betrayal, at the complete and utter abnormality that surrounded every aspect of his life now. And most of all, he cried about the fact that no matter how much he hated Will, no matter how much he was disgusted with what Will had done, a part of Tom still loved him.

The part of him that wanted to pretend like he’d never read that letter, that he hadn’t found out the truth. It longed for him to live in the blissful throes of ignorance and denial. But he couldn’t.

Lethargically, he picked up the scraps of the papers that he’d ripped, tossing them all into the trash. When he was done, he sat on the bed with the terrible realization that Will was going to come back, and that Tom would have to say something to him. He tried imagining different things to say but ultimately came up blank, no matter how much he struggled.

He also attempted splashing water on his face to make it less obvious he’d cried, but it was no use- his eyes were as red and puffy as ever. When he heard Will opening the door, he didn’t even move, just stared at him numbly.

“Tom, look what I-”

Will halted mid-sentence, seeing his face. “Jesus, what’s wrong?” he asked.

“Ad Maius Bonum,” Tom said softly. 

Will’s face lost all color. He took a step towards Tom.

“Tom, I can explain-” he started.

“Don’t,” Tom said. “Leave.”

Will looked quite desperate, staring at him. “Please,” he said weakly, “If we can just talk-”

“I don’t want to talk,” Tom told him, hating himself for the tears that welled in his eyes. “I want you to get out, and I never want to see you again!”

Will looked on the verge of tears himself. “Tom,” he said.

“Get the fuck out!” Tom yelled. 

Will went silent, then slowly nodded, his jaw tightening. As he grabbed his things, Tom noticed that Will's hands were shaking. He hated him for that.

“I’m so sorry, Tom,” Will said quickly. “It was never meant to be like this.”

“Fuck you,” Tom replied.

He nodded again, and then he was gone. The world had gone grey again. Tom stared at the door for ages, feeling quite empty, then he collapsed down onto the bed. He cried himself to sleep.

* * *

It took months for Tom to get rid of every trace of Will. He got rid of his sheets, donated the shirts Will had left, replacing it all with things that Will hadn’t been around. He even rearranged the furniture, got rid of every piece of art that Will had ever been in. 

Occasionally, he found himself scrubbing at his skin when he bathed, wishing he could never have been touched by Will, that he could have new skin. 

The worst of all was when he’d picked up a book to read and had found Will’s poem, neatly creased between the spine and the first page. He’d frozen, staring at it, not daring to open it. 

He didn’t need to, of course, he’d memorized it. Even now, the words haunted him: 

_I would take on_

_All the disgrace on Earth_

_If it meant_

_I could kiss you_

_Just once._

He burned it. Slowly, eventually, he came back into himself. He drew new things, noticed times when he even felt happy again. Once, he even allowed himself to wonder where Will was. That was his closure.

* * *

Will got no such closure, unfortunately. He spent his days drinking and wishing that things had turned out differently, that he’d just been able to explain. It wasn’t like Tom had thought it was.

Will’s father had been a proud member of Ad Maius Bonum, but Will had always profoundly disagreed with the group’s ideals- they were the opposite of what he believed in. 

But when his father had suddenly died, his responsibilities had fallen to Will, who really was left with no choice if he wanted to avoid suspicion. 

And of course, as a closeted homosexual, he’d wanted to avoid as much suspicion as he possibly could. So he’d done it.

At first, it had been fine, just attending the meetings. Then they had brought Tom into it. 

“Watch for suspicious activity,” they’d told him. It was an order, not a request. Will had only planned to befriend him, knowing that he'd never have the heart to actually tell them if Tom was deviating from what the church found acceptable. 

What he hadn’t planned for was falling in love with Tom. From the first moment, when Will had introduced himself as a poet- the career he had always wanted- he’d fallen deep for Tom’s every move. He’d planned to tell him all of the truth and to expose Ad Maius Bonum to the public for all their crimes. 

With the circumstances, neither had happened. After Tom had kicked him out, he’d simply told Jacobs that they’d had a large falling out and that Tom wouldn’t see him anymore. Jacobs took the news with a surprising amount of grace, explaining that this happened more often than he’d think.

When Will’s mother had gotten sick, the group had backed off a bit, telling him to take a break. She’d lived, thankfully- one good thing in his life. He’d distracted himself by nursing her back to health. When she was better, he waited for the group to return, but they never had. 

Of course, Will was suspicious, but he knew that they at least could not touch Tom- they had nothing to prove Tom was not a good, devout Christian- Will had always made sure of that. Tom had always been the important thing. Always.

And now, Tom hated him. But Will understood. He hated himself too.

* * *

When Father Jacobs arrived at his door, Tom wasn’t sure what to think or feel. Fear? Disgust? He was tempted to slam the door on his face. Instead, he silently let him in, knowing if he turned a priest away it would draw suspicion.

“Hello, Thomas,” Jacobs said to him. “You’re probably wondering why I’m here.”

Tom gave a nod. 

“The truth is, I have some very bad news,” the priest said. “May I sit down?”

Tom nodded again, pulling out a chair.

“Thank you, my son,” he said, sitting. Tom tried to mask his dislike of that title and sat across from him.

“You like to be called Tom, is that right?” Jacobs asked.

“Yes,” Tom said. “My dad was the one we called Thomas.”

“I see,” Jacobs replied, smiling. Tom watched him as he withdrew a few papers and placed them on the table.

“This is not easy for me to explain,” the priest said, “But I am aware of your… how shall we phrase it... past intimate relations with William Schofield.”

_Fear._ Tom took in a sharp breath, and Jacobs smiled comfortingly.

“Don’t worry, my son, I am not here to judge or criticize. Your secret is safe with me, for only God can judge us.”

Tom eyed him, distrust lingering through every inch of him.

Jacobs sighed. “I fear you have the wrong perception of me- you see, many rumors are spread of Ad Maius Bonum, but none of them are true. We strive for peace, for protection of the people.”

“Right,” Tom said. “Protection from people like me.”

“No,” Jacobs answered, “Protection from people like _Will._ ”

Tom stopped cold.

“What do you mean?” he asked. “Will?”

“Will was once one of us,” Jacobs said. “His father was a good man, always striving for the best of the people. But Will… he does not share his father’s goodness. He has abandoned his beliefs, abandoned all of us.”

Jacobs picked up one of the papers, gazing over it. “He is not what you think, Tom. He is a great evil- he manipulates all those around him, causes them harm.”

Tom nearly laughed. “Look, Will is not who I thought he was but he’s not… evil.”

“No?” Father Jacobs said. “You think you’re the only one he’s done this to?”

Tom looked at him.

“Here is an account of someone who went through something quite similar with William,” the priest said, handing over the paper. 

“And another, two months later.” He handed over a second paper.

Tom read them. It horrified him. Stories of relationships with Will, so spot on with Will’s behavior and traits that it was as if Tom could have written them himself. His poems, his jokes… Tom couldn’t even begin to know how someone would know those things unless they had been in a relationship with him. 

But the stories went on to say that Will had started out sweet, and when the relationship had progressed, he had grown abusive. Violent. 

Tom found it harder to believe those parts, but… The Will he’d ‘known’ never would have set foot within six feet of Ad Maius Bonum, no matter how “misunderstood” of a group they were.

And if he had thought that was impossible of Will, but it had undeniably happened... perhaps he could have missed the violent side of him as well. Perhaps it wasn’t so impossible for Will to be cruel. Perhaps he didn’t know Will at all.

“Okay,” Tom said, trembling with an unknown emotion, “Say these are true, that Will is like that. Why bring them to me?”

“Because he’s grown dangerous,” Jacobs answered. “He’s more bold, out of control. He beat a man nearly to death last week.”

Tom was numb. He buried his head in his hands.

“Tom, he’s an expert manipulator,” Jacobs said. “You only saw what he wanted you to. I know how abrupt and strange this must seem.”

Tom was fighting back tears. “And? What do I have to do with him now? I don’t know where he is!”

“No, but we do,” Jacobs answered. “We want you to stop this trail of abuse before he kills someone. We want you to stop him.”

“Stop him,” Tom repeated. “What do you mean, stop him?”

Jacobs stared at him, eyes practically boring into his soul.

Tom slid his chair back. “Jesus,” he said. “You want me to kill him.”

He shook his head, standing up, feeling as though he were in a nightmare. “Christ, are you fucking insane?” he burst, forgetting he was talking to a priest.

“Tom,” Jacobs said, “The longer we leave him, the more people he hurts.”

“So? Throw him in prison, then!” Tom said. 

“The justice system is corrupt,” Jacobs said. “Surely you see how murderers walk free, how thieves are uncharged, how the rich escape verdict. Send him to prison and he’ll be out before you know it, even more brutal.”

“This is crazy. Get someone else to do it!” Tom said.

“We can’t. He doesn’t trust us,” Jacobs said. “He has a fondness for you, and he knows you. Ask him to meet and he’ll come.”

“And then what? Slit his throat? Impale him?” Tom asked, pacing the room.

Jacobs slowly set a vial on the table. Tom stared at it.

“It will be quick,” Jacobs said softly. 

“Oh, God,” Tom said, tears slipping down his face. “God!”

“Just slip it into his wine. It will be over before you know it.”

Tom was sobbing now, sitting down on the floor.

“I can’t,” he choked. “I can’t do it.”

“You have to,” Jacobs instructed. “Or the blood of everyone he kills will be on your hands.”

Tom couldn’t even look at him.

“Here,” Jacob said, throwing down an envelope. “It’s a letter, asking him to meet with you. All you have to do is send it.”

Tom brought his knees to his chest, staring down at the ground.

“May God be with you, Tom,” Jacobs said. “I hope you will make the right decision.”

He left. After that, Tom drank more than he’d ever done in his life and mailed out the letter.

“God help me,” he said. He didn’t believe in God.

* * *

When Will arrived, Tom took one look at him and knew he couldn’t go through with it. He couldn’t.

“Tom,” Will said softly.

Tom couldn’t say anything. He just sat down and gazed at him. Will sat across from him.

“You got my letter,” Tom finally said.

“Yes,” Will replied. He folded his hands together, and Tom stared at them.

_Marble veins_ , he recalled once thinking. Perfect as ever. They sat like that a while in silence, unmoving.

“It was them, wasn’t it?” Will said. “Ad Maius Bonum?”

Tom looked up at him, unable to even deny it.

“What’d they tell you?” Will asked. “That I’m dangerous?”

Tom nodded. Guilt was flooding him, crawling up through his throat, suffocating him. He was beyond disgusted at the fact that he’d managed to let Jacobs manipulate him.

“They told me you were a murderer,” Tom said. “And that I had to… that I had to stop you. To kill you.”

Will stared at him expectantly. “Well?” he said. “Are you going to kill me?”

Tom shook his head. “No.”

Will nodded. “How did they want you to do it?”

Tom grabbed the unopened vial from his pocket, placing it on the table.

Will picked it up, examining it. “Cyanide, most likely,” he said.

“God, Will,” Tom said, bursting into sobs, “I’m so sorry, I-”

“Don’t,” Will said. “Don’t be sorry. I know what they’re like. I know they must have been extremely convincing. Maybe they even had details on me you couldn’t explain away unless it was true.”

Tom thought back to the letters, shaking.

“They got to Richard, too,” Will said. “He was… we were together, years ago. He told them everything about me.”

“Christ,” Tom said, realizing Richard must have been the one to fake the letters for Jacobs.

“Tom, I never told them anything about you,” Will said. “I never would have-”

“I know,” Tom replied softly.

“And I was going to come clean about it,” Will said. “I hated them, always. I was just… scared they’d find out the truth about me if I didn’t do what they wanted. So when they asked me to watch you, I did, but I never told them anything. And I just… I fell in love with you.”

Tom’s heart turned at that. “I’m sorry. I should have listened to you,” he said.

“It’s understandable,” Will murmured. “You felt betrayed.”

Tom didn’t know how to reply. He was mourning the time they’d lost. Will looked down at the empty cups on the table. “I suppose these are for us?” he asked.

“Yes,” Tom answered, grabbing the wine, pouring them each a cup.

Will picked up the poison, opening it and sniffing it. “Odorless,” he remarked. “How long do you think it’d take to kill someone?”

Tom shifted, uncomfortable. “I don’t know. They said it would be quick.”

“Hopefully they were telling the truth for once,” Will said, and before Tom could react—he had poured the vial into his wine and moved it to his lips.

“Fuck!” Tom cried, half in shock. “Will! What the fuck are you doing!” 

He moved to grab the glass, but it was too late. Will had swallowed.

“Bastard!” Tom cried. “What the hell!”

Will was eerily calm. “If I don’t die, they’ll kill you,” he said.

“Fuck that!” Tom said desperately, half-sobbing. He stubbornly grabbed the poisoned glass, drinking from it himself.

“Tom!” Will cried. He’d gone pale, his breaths coming with more difficulty. 

“If you go, I go with you,” Tom said. He could already feel the poison’s effects coming on, dizziness, lightheadedness.

“For God’s sake!” Will said, but both of them knew there was no going back now

“Just hold me,” Tom said, and Will pulled him into his arms. It was harder to breathe now.

“I love you,” Will said to him weakly.

“I love you too,” Tom said. Will’s breaths were scraping now, a sound that hurt Tom to hear.

“Do you remember the poem I gave you?” Will asked with difficulty, barely audible.

“Always,” Tom said, wishing he hadn’t burned it. “I memorized it.”

Will almost laughed at that, tucking his head over Tom’s shoulder. Tom took his hand. Without Will, his world had been a shade of grey. Now, he watched it slowly fade to black, praying that he’d find the tell-tale shade of golden hair on the other side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is an alternate, happy ending


	2. Alternate Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is an alternate ending, a much happier one. It picks up after Tom tells Will to leave, and things happen differently, so Tom doesn't talk to Father Jacobs.

It was two months before he saw Will again. Ad Maius Bonum had fallen apart by then, exposed of the blood on their hands. Apparently, the evidence to take them down had come from an internal member, and Tom hadn’t been able to stop himself from wondering if it had been Will. But he’d shaken his head and brushed Will from his thoughts, determined to move on. 

He’d hoped never to see him again, of course, but that wasn’t how it had worked out. It had been on the street when Tom was out purchasing art supplies- he’d accidentally bumped into someone. It was him. Will, looking exhausted yet still somehow heavenly.

“Tom,” Will had said, gripping his arm, an intense look in his eyes. Tom half wanted to push him off, half wanted to bury himself in those arms and never leave. He settled on not moving at all.

“Will,” he said, almost automatically.

“Tom, look, I know how all of it must have seemed,” Will said, “And I know you must hate me.”

Tom didn’t disagree.

“If you could just hear me out, I’ll tell you everything. Please,” Will said. “Anything you want to know.”

Tom couldn’t deny that he had questions, and his curiosity got the better of him. 

“Alright,” he said. Will nodded, looking relieved. Tom had followed him to his house, sat down awkwardly at the table across from him.

“I guess… First of all, is there anything specific you want to know?” Will asked. Tom didn’t even know where to start- he had two months worth of questions. 

“Not now. I want you to tell me what happened,” he decided, wanting to hear Will’s version of the story. And so Will told him. He told him about his father, who had been a co-founder of Ad Maius Bonum. He told Tom how he’d grown up secretly despising the group, unable to speak out on it because he’d been hiding the truth of his sexuality from his parents. 

He told Tom about his father’s death, and how the responsibilities were passed down from father to son. How he’d wanted to avoid suspicion, so he’d accepted. How it had started out only with meetings, then how they’d recruited him to befriend Tom.

“Befriend,” Tom had said numbly.

“Yes,” Will said. “I wasn’t- we weren’t supposed to...” He paused, taking a breath. “I wasn’t supposed to get any closer than that,” he finally said.

“You didn’t do that very well, did you?” Tom snapped.

Will looked down at the mug he was holding, not meeting Tom’s eyes. “No. I didn’t,” he said. Tom half wondered if he could even believe anything Will said at this point- he was extremely suspicious. But, it made more sense than what he’d always assumed, so he let Will continue. 

Will told him how he’d always planned to tell Tom the truth about who he was, how he’d slowly set in motion a plan to take down Ad Maius Bonum.

“So it was you,” Tom said. “You’re the one who ended them.”

“Yes,” Will said.

“What’d you tell them about me?” Tom said.

“That you’re a good, devout Christian,” Will said. “I wanted to protect you.”

Tom looked at him, then turned away.

“I’m not expecting you to just… up and forgive me,” Will said. “I know that you’re hurt. I know it’s a lot to process.”

Tom nodded, this time being the one that avoided Will’s eyes.

“Was any of it real?” he asked, unable to stop himself, “Between you and me?”

“Yes,” Will said. “Tom, I… I love you. All of it was real, for me.”

Tom stared at him in shock.

“I barely know you,” he said coldly. “Everything I know about you is a lie. You aren’t even really a poet.”

“I always wanted to be,” Will said. Tom stared at him for a while, finding that he believed his words. 

“Well? What now?” he asked. He was angry, but knew it wouldn’t be long before the tears came.

Will hesitated. “I suppose it depends on what you want,” he answered. 

“And what do _you_ want, Will?” Tom asked.

Will gazed at him with such longing that Tom had to fight to keep collected.

“I want you,” Will said. “I’ve always wanted you.” He paused for a moment, swallowing hard. “But I understand if you never want to see me again. I just… I needed you to know the truth.”

There was a moment of silence. Tom didn’t know what to say. He started crying instead. Will gently set down his mug.

“Tom,” he said tenderly, cautiously placing a hand on Tom’s back. “Tom, I’m so sorry.”

Tom desperately tried to stop, but the tears kept coming. Will rubbed his back and murmured soft, comforting things. Tom leaned into him, and Will hesitantly wrapped Tom in his arms.

\--

It took him a long time to trust Will again. It was two months before he even dared attempt to draw him again. It was difficult. There were times that Tom would be fine, and times when he’d break down, not even wanting Will to touch him. 

Will was patient, never pushy, always understanding. He would leave when Tom wanted, hold him when he cried, encourage him with his art. He even wrote Tom more poems.

And slowly, surely, Tom’s heart opened again. The world gained color again. There was finally a time where he felt healed, able to move on, secure in the fact that Will loved him. 

And when he had a blank canvas, he knew that he’d be able to create a masterpiece in shades of gold and blue, for Will was there with him. The name of his muse was Will, and he had golden hair.


End file.
